


Internship

by kalisona



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalisona/pseuds/kalisona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They go through interns like tissues, at the radio station; that's okay, though, because the interns are always there to do their job, and Cecil does so appreciate their hard work and even harder deaths. Carlos doesn't understand it at all, but then, that's not too unusual either.</p>
<p>A brief look at the even briefer lives of those unfortunate interns we all know and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Internship

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for canon-typical violence and many, many dead interns.

**Chad ;**

Work at the station was truly never done. There was reporting to be done, music to be found, bird noises to record…the work truly never ended. And Cecil knew that it wouldn't get as close as it was to getting done without the hard work of his industrious intern. Chad was the newest industrious intern, sweet Chad with his ever-present grin and willingness to bustle.

His interns admired him, after all; as the Voice of Night Vale, Cecil was basically a folk hero, and they subscribed to that mentality quite happily. Cecil, quite used to it by now and rather fond, in an odd sort of way, of all of them, repaid their faith by mentioning them on the radio, all in tones of fondness and pride.

_Like Chad here_ —he said into the microphone with a grin, as Chad busily delivered his papers— _Chad will certainly be going places._

Places like the odd new sport’s shop that had opened in Night Vale. They discussed it over drinks—green tea for Cecil, because oh the _horror_ if his voice ever broke on air, and Chad valiantly swallowed down the same in a sense of solidarity, though he could’ve really gone for a coffee—while the red light above them indicated that they were off the air, or that they were being moved ten names up on the Sheriff’s Secret Police’s watch list, it was truly hard to say at times.

“Have you been there?” Cecil asked conversationally, and he simply had a voice that invited response, not that it was needed here. Chad was happy to respond when his mentor asked him questions.

“To the sporting goods store on Flint Drive?” He took a sip of his tea thoughtfully, and fought back a grimace. This would really have been better with sugar. Or honey. Or if it had been coffee. “I haven’t yet. I thought better of it when I saw the odd shape the black helicopters were making above it.”

That seemed to interest Cecil, at least, by how he tilted his head. He called it his journalism face, but personally, Chad thought he was a tad bit—well, he simply looked a little too dreamy to have a very interrogative face. It was for the better though. They all loved Cecil’s slightly droopy-eyed look. “An odd shape? Like a figure eight?”

“It was more a dodecahedron, if I had to judge,” responded Chad, who had taken eighth grade _Shapes and Summoning Circles_ like every other kid.

That gave Cecil some pause, but only long enough for him to admit, “That isn’t one of the approved shapes on the government posted signs on all light posts and fences. Huh! How odd! I wonder what it could mean.”

_I wonder what it could mean_ , and of course, that coming from Cecil’s mouth, with that delicious little inflection that meant _I want to know what it could mean_ with a healthy dose of _good reporting would know what that means_ and _we really could use a tennis racquet, couldn’t we?_ was like dangling the forbidden fruit in front of Chad the intern, who really was quite taken with Cecil indeed.

But then the light changed green, and Cecil was back to being the Voice of Night Vale, and Chad happily piled the necessary papers neatly on Cecil’s desk, at the exact angle of 13 degrees as was ordained by the town council, and left.

He went eagerly down the road, because he was doing the great town of Night Vale a great service, so he could hold his chin up high and also keep a wary eye out for falling animals while still displaying his pride. It was the optimal position to walk in.

Of course, once he got to the sport’s shop, artfully arranged with a large golf ball in front, he didn’t stand a chance; as it was a front for the Government, there was nothing to fear, but likewise, Chad was never going to come back.

Of course, Cecil noticed his absence, especially as the days dragged into weeks. The paperwork piled up in odd and uncanny angles, some fluttering to the floor to make a pentagram that summoned a small demon before he could set one on fire and break the circle. So he did what he had to do, and hired a new intern to deal with the mess.

See, the radio station simply _couldn’t_ function without the interns. And Night Vale needed its news.

Chad never got to hear Cecil’s obituary for him either, which Cecil always found to be a shame. The poor dear had been so _excited_ about radio, and he wouldn’t even get to hear his name on the radio! But duty called, and so Cecil had to speak into the microphone, slow, soothing tones of— _To the parents of Chad the intern, we regret to inform you…_

Regret, regret, regret. It was an odd emotion, wasn’t it? Cecil had known that he was sending Chad to the sport’s shop. He had not known that Chad would not come back, for it was a Government front, and thus perfectly safe, of course. He had sent Chad to his death, but hadn’t it been, in the end, what Chad had been working towards?

**Jerry ;**

The intern Cecil hired after Chad was less bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (and possessed less of the above), but he was still just as eager to please. _Oh_ these interns, so very cute and civic minded! It was enough to humble an old radio host like him.

Well, if he had needed humbling, that is.

But Jerry was a good intern. He kept the place clean, and the papers and news report were always five minutes early, which was a great plus. He was clever, too, that Jerry—nothing ever got past him.

“You’ll be an excellent reporter,” Cecil remarked one day after watching Jerry give _Steve Carlsburg_ a verbal beatdown that could have made his own mother at least shed a tear, or some form of liquid from an orifice on her face.

Jerry brightened at that, grin on his face betraying his excitement, despite his usually sober demeanor. “You really think so, Mr. Cecil?”

Cecil smiled at that, gentle and chiding. “Cecil is fine, remember? We’re all a family here at the station. And of course I think so! I’m a reporter, and only the truth escapes these lips—well, with a hint of editorial at times, but truly, who doesn’t let slip an editorial or two every now and then?”

Jerry just grinned, euphoric in his pleasure, and agreed. He would’ve agreed with most anything Cecil said, admittedly, because they were _family_ —and it was true, because Cecil only ever told the truth, except when he was corrected, but that only happened every now and then anyway.

They were a big family at the radio station, which was why when everything crumbled around them, Jerry was the first to go. Cecil’s ill-said comment on the station management’s appearance was only the beginning; as the door slammed open and the halls filled with the eerie groan of strained architecture, Cecil dropped everything, paling, and turned to look at Jerry. Jerry stared back at him, eyes wide with fear, but slowly, he straightened his shoulders, swallowing once—a gulp could say _so much_ , Cecil remembered noting that—and turned away from Cecil to stare down the hallway. There was a faint red light approaching the door that led to their recording room.

“You’d best get under the desk then, Cecil,” Jerry said, turning to walk towards the door. Because they were family, Cecil thought vaguely, taking his intern’s advice and huddling in fetal position beneath the desk, his hands wrapped around the microphone.

Because they were family, and also, because it was the intern’s _job_ to go see what management wanted, honestly, it could hardly be expected of someone like _him_ to have to go and see what they wanted each time a little thing set them off! It was only natural, honestly.

There was a pause in the noises, and then the entire building shuddered, and Cecil knew Jerry wasn’t coming back. And so he pulled his microphone closer and— _An intern went to see what management wanted…_

Memorializing his interns over the airwaves was his job, after all, and not the job of the interns, like the sounds of management coming closer, step by doom-ridden step.

**Leland ;**

There was never a lack of excited young people to apply to be interns, at least. Cecil was walking with his newest intern, Leland, around town as a way to get to know him quickly and without delay. After all, there was no telling how long this intern would last, and so Cecil wanted to get to know him as well as he possibly could in the interim. You never knew when a wild dog would cut your time short, after all!

Leland was a tall young man, thin as a rail and full of good humor. And Cecil was, of course, his hero. Leland had just been telling him his experience as a pizza delivery boy (before that pizza shop had dropped beneath the earth in a freak accident, of course), when Cecil froze. Leland walked a few steps further, and then paused and backtracked quickly, just in case he had to carry Cecil somewhere, since he was rather certain that fell under Intern Duties.

“Is something—“

“Look!” Cecil nearly _sparkled_ in his excitement. “It’s beautiful, perfect Carlos, with his perfect hair.”

Cecil’s crush was, well, common town gossip at this point. It was hard for it not to be, not after he had gushed about _perfect Carlos_ on the radio for all to hear. And everyone listened to the radio.

_Everyone. Listened._

But it was true, the interns got the brunt of it. Leland had been there to experience Cecil’s special form of gushing off the air, and it was truly a moment he would never forget. Still, if perfect Carlos made Cecil this happy, who was Leland to say “Sorry, Cecil, you’re spilling your coffee all over me in your excitement”?

Carlos hadn’t seemed to notice them; he was staring up at the roosting habits of the uncommon pigeons of Night Vale (so called because—well, it wasn’t pretty) or maybe the sky, a nice slate color. Leland took this auspicious opportunity to drag the star struck Cecil away. Everyone knew of Cecil’s crush, especially the interns, but the interns were probably more invested than the _average_ citizen of Night Vale. Honestly, they were simply wanted to see Cecil have the best possible chance with Carlos.

Leland was no exception. As he dragged Cecil back to the station before their fingerprint-enforced curfew took effect, he listened good-naturedly to his rambling about perfect Carlos and his perfect hair. Granted, _everyone_ thought that perfect Carlos was perfect, but it was hard to say just how much of that was Cecil’s influence. After all, when Cecil spoke, people listened.

Cecil was Leland’s hero.

But they were both brought out of their gushing thoughts by the sight of the Shape nobody would speak or think about, lurking quite innocently on the doorstep of the radio studio, much like a demented girl scout or unwanted guest, or both at the same time.

They exchanged a glance and hurried into the studio; it seemed the show would not wait, much as it tended to do. As Cecil hastily started up his broadcast, Leland scrambled for the papers he would need while simultaneously shoving the door shut with an extra chair drawn from the dark space under the desk. He breathed out a sigh of relief, turning to see Cecil eyeing him strangely, even as he waxed poetic about whether or not he was the only person in the world.

Leland sighed. Much as Cecil was his idol, it could get a little tiresome, being questioned whether or not you exist. Leland was quite certain he existed, after all, and he would prove it with a cup of coffee.

Which admittedly seemed to work, as Cecil blinked and took the coffee and offered Leland a smile, his fondness bleeding into his voice on the radio. At least that was an uplifting final scene for Leland to see.

At least there was that.

And then he disappeared into a strange red light as he went to go check on the sturdiness of the chair in the entrance, clearly vaporized, and Cecil blinked and very carefully set aside his cup of coffee.

He cleared his throat—had to keep his tone nice and family-friendly in the event that the children had returned—and began to speak. _To the family of Leland: we thank you for his service…_

Finding interns was going to become difficult, at this rate.

**Brad ;**

Brad was a nice young man, Cecil though vaguely as he prepared for his show. He wasn’t sure where he came from, exactly, or how he’d gotten hired—he couldn’t quite remember interviewing him, even.

Still. A very nice young man, even if he had a tendency to wear that black hood up indoors and hissed at anyone who tried to touch it.

He was also not particularly prompt with the paperwork, which was more of a problem than the black hood, but Cecil wasn’t one to get angry over silly things. He was more composed than that, as the gracious Voice of Night Vale!

“ _Brad_ , the _papers_ if you please!” Cecil snapped graciously. Brad quickly and silently handed them over in a mess of papers, and Cecil cleared his throat and shuffled them into place. “Thank you, Brad! You’re an absolutely lifesaver,” Cecil said honestly, all fondness and kindness.

Brad just shuffled back into a shadow.

It seemed this bonding wasn’t going as well as Cecil would have liked. Well…drat! He would have to come up with some other way to bond with this new intern, because even if he wasn’t going to last very long, it would still be better for Cecil to at least know what he _looked_ like under that hood, if only so he could win the Dead Person Impersonation Contest later that year. Cecil was often the winner of that—it came, he claimed modestly, of losing so many interns in a year.

So bonding would just _have_ to happen. That was one of the things that simply happened here in the radio station in Night Vale. He was the Voice of Night Vale, and he got to know his interns. That was the way of things!

Oddly, it was in a bathroom that bonding finally happened, though not, likely, in the way that would first come to mind with a sentence like that. Cecil was attempting to feed Koschek, scratching the ill-tempered but adorable floating cat behind the ears thoughtfully, when Brad shuffled in. He paused, and then revealed under his robes a litter box. He also suddenly looked 50 pounds slimmer, but Cecil supposed that was what happened when you hid a litter box beneath your robes.

More importantly, Cecil watched in astonishment as Brad rigged up a system for the floating cat to use as a litter box. It was quite ingenious, to Cecil’s mind.

“Neat!” he exclaimed, examining it with a smile. “The dark magic is an excellent touch!”

And Cecil got the impression that beneath that dark hood, Brad was smiling. See? Bonding. It hadn’t been so hard after all. Cecil was good at his job, after all, much like his interns were very good at theirs.

It was a shame that a few short weeks later, Brad was mauled by the wild dogs wandering town, the gang that was absolutely terrible and thuggish. Cecil couldn’t believe it. He’d nearly predicted it, after all! And that was a terrible thing, because precognition in Night Vale was dealt with terribly. Nobody wanted to be caught predicting the future, especially as the future was just a construct created by the Dog Park, which they weren’t supposed to think about.

Ah…Cecil was in quite a lot of trouble now. Enough that he quite forgot to announce the death of Brad at all.

**Stacy ;**

It was a peaceful couple of weeks that introduced Stacy into the life of the radio station, and by extension Cecil. Cecil quite enjoyed this change of pace. There was only a small fracas about the noisiness of sunsets, and only four deaths on top of that, so Cecil almost did not know how to spend that peaceful interlude.

He did so by talking with Stacy, of course. His new intern had an…interesting fascination, dealing with him (common) and Carlos (less common, but perhaps it should have been expected? After all, perfect Carlos was perfect). More importantly, Stacy had a fascination with Cecil’s relationship with Carlos, and while he wasn’t one to be easily embarrassed, he did have a sense of decency beyond what he would share on the radio, and he was quite flustered by her interest. Flattered, perhaps, but flustered.

But perhaps that was an intern’s job as well—to fluster the Voice of Night Vale. Cecil was not sure, but he was willing to accept it.

Besides, Stacy was a hard worker, very interested in the town and news. She often tried to find ways for Cecil to meet with Carlos, and Cecil responded quite eagerly, even if Carlos did not.

“Hey, Cecil,” she asked one morning, filling a cup of coffee for each of them, “Why do you think Carlos is so interested in those clocks? I tried googling it, but it doesn’t make any sense to me.”

Cecil paused mid-sip, considering that. “Perhaps perfect Carlos enjoys being on time to each and every one of his appointments, like a conscientious citizen. He is, after all, wonderful and thoughtful in all ways.”

Stacy giggled. “Of course he is—oh!”

She blinked, tilting her head at the email, and then turned towards the printer. She rushed to the window, catching a pigeon for the necessary blood sacrifice to get the printer to spit out its hostage, and when that had been successfully accomplished, she handed over the picture of the massive dragon to Cecil.

“Ah.” He said, eloquently.

There was reporting to do.

Later, he would not be able to say what happened to Stacy. One moment, she had been there, and the next, she was gone. He had assumed she was performing her tasks as an intern, but then as months passed, it seemed likely that she was either dead or lost in the line of duty—in which case, he had been right all along regardless.

Oddly, it had been Carlos who had brought it up, looking at him oddly as he helped with a science experiment. “Is your intern all right?” he asked, cautious.

And it struck Cecil immediately, and he slapped a hand to his face and groaned. “Oh no, I totally didn’t notice! She has been gone an awfully long time. I doubt she’s coming back.”

Carlos looked struck by this, wincing. “I’m sorry—“

Which simply made Cecil blink, tilting his head. “I’m sorry as well. I really thought I could help with the experiment, but I have to go prepare tomorrow’s show, now that she isn’t here! I hope I can help another time.”

Carlos looked as if he didn’t know what to make of this information, but Cecil took it as a brilliant, struck expression at his parting, and so he left with quite the spring in his step. Ah, his sweet, perfect Carlos, so sweet and thoughtful…thinking even of Stacy the Intern.

Still, she deserved some sort of announcement, and so Cecil cleared his throat and tucked the picture of Hiram McDaniels, still oddly sitting on his desk, away and spoke clearly to the townspeople of Night Vale— _Also, Night Vale community radio intern Stacy died a couple of months ago…_

**Dana ;**

They were really running out of interns who had pride in their work, so it was truly a marvel when Cecil stumbled across Dana. She was an inquisitive young woman, absolutely necessary in that line of work, and even better, she was quite enamored with Cecil—and his work. How he got lucky enough to find Dana, Cecil would never know, but he wasn’t about to question it; questioning luck was a good way to find oneself suddenly in a collapsed underwater temple. It was the causality of the universe that did it, after all.

Regardless, Dana was hired on the spot. She seemed very unsurprised by this.

Still, Cecil quite liked her. For one thing, she survived quite a bit longer than some of the interns he knew. They often took tea together before the show (Dana was back to tea, not coffee, but Cecil never really complained. Beverages were the interns’ job), discussing the news, the town or Dana’s curious interests.

What they never discussed was the Dog Park. In fact, the force of their not discussing of the Dog Park on occasion earned them stern looks from the cameras littered around the radio station, at which point, they attempted to stop not discussing it so fervently.

And when her doppelganger had shown up, Dana had proven herself to be magnificently up to the challenge! Or, well, her doppelganger had. Cecil was still not sure. To be fair, he had had his hands quite full himself, and had thus not gotten the chance to check Dana and her doppelganger very thoroughly before he had gone through the Void, his sense of duty propelling him onward.

When he returned, shaking and pale, it was Dana, or Dana’s doppelganger, that quickly ushered him to a seat and got him a glass of water while he reached for the microphone.

He thanked her, of course, because that was only good manners, but otherwise did not feel the need to do much more. After all, that was the intern’s job. Dana was simply doing her job.

And when she rushed off to the Dog Park on Poetry Week, she was simply doing her job as well. The fact that she did not come back was, alas, not much of a surprise. It was the Dog Park. It was her job.

And Cecil, dutifully, said— _And Intern Dana—or her double—you will be missed._

But the news needed reporting, and as a reporter, it was his sacred duty to do so. He was not, however, expecting a phone call right as he finished. Blinking, Cecil reached for the phone, attempting to bandage one of his cracked and bleeding thumbs as he did so.

“Hello?”

“Cecil?” came the sweet, dulcet tones of Carlos’ perfect voice, and Cecil nearly dropped the phone in his excitement.

“Carlos! What a wonderful surprise! It’s so wonderful to receive a call from you.” Bandages quite forgotten, Cecil propped his chin on his hands, smearing blood everywhere. “What can I do for you?”

There was some hesitation from the other end of the line, and then, haltingly, Carlos, sweet, perfect Carlos, said, “I heard what happened to Dana, and I know you two were close. I wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

Cecil blinked. And then, aware that phones only transmitted blinks and other facial gestures through painful shocks to the brain, he hurriedly carried on. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

Carlos paused again, and then the dam broke. “Don’t you miss her? Or feel bad about—you basically sent her to her death!”

And suddenly it all clicked in Cecil’s brain—and he began to chuckle, quietly. Wiping a tear from his eye, he sighed. “Ah, Carlos, your sweet naiveté of town matters often escapes me. I seem to keep forgetting that you haven’t been with us forever! Perhaps it is just the way that you’ve affected my life in such a short time.”

There was a bit of a pause, but as it became clear Carlos was still tensely awaiting an answer, Cecil continued, “Dana was an _intern_ , Carlos.”

The scientist hesitated. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—“

“She did all of the jobs of an intern, and she did them amazingly, and so what is there to feel bad about?” Cecil explained patiently, smiling.

“But weren’t you friends…?” Carlos asked, clearly struggling to grasp this concept.

Cecil chuckled quietly, amused. “Of course we were! But as I said before, she was an intern. Her job was to do those tasks that are assigned to interns. Interns make sure the radio station runs properly, help me with whatever tasks I might need, and die.”

The silence that fell was sudden, and almost frigid, but Cecil was almost childish in his innocent cheer. “She did her job, and it is very commendable of her! But now it is time to find a new intern, of course. Was there anything else, sweet Carlos?”

Carlos paused a brief moment longer, and then there was a brief exhalation of breath. “No, nothing.”

Cecil just hummed as the line disconnected, feeling the warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach of a conversation gone well. He did so enjoy teaching Carlos about their home. He really felt like the man was getting it now!

But now Cecil needed to find a new intern. After all, they were a family, here at the radio station, and it certainly wasn’t going to run itself.


End file.
